


Preconceptions

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified
Genre: Accents, F/M, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen's got a sweet apartment, a good ol' boy in her bed, and an unexpected kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preconceptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozmissage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/gifts).



> I think most of fandom is really positive that Karen Goodall as we see her in Season 3, is supposed to be Elmore Leonard's other famous Miami US Marshall, Karen Sisco. I have tagged her by both names in the relationship and character tags. Hope this doesn't cause too much confusion. 
> 
> I don't think this is a crossover for the show Karen Sisco, however, because I've never watched it, so I really have no idea.
> 
> This fic was written for Fiave Acts in fall 2012 and I forgot to post it.

“You play down your accent at work,” Karen tells him, her finger slipping lightly down his profile.

He’s facing her, pretending to sleep. He always lays like a log after they screw. Until she gets him going again.

She hears birds calling through the open sliding screen door to her balcony. Karen’s apartment faces the ocean. Her rent is a song for the area. She’s thankful to the CI who gave her the tip about it. She told Raylan she flashed the landlord her tits. She thinks he believes her.

He wrinkles his nose at her and opens his eyes. “So what?”

She slides down the bed and props herself up on an elbow, keeping the sheet around her chest. “Nothing,” she says. “I just noticed, getting to know you _outside_ the office. And,” she looks right at him and adds in a low voice, “I like it.”

He smiles, his loose, sleepy, post-coital smile, the smile that slides across his face like a trombone, but makes no sound but a slow breath, and says, voice too-light, because he can’t take a compliment, “You don’t hear enough southern in the sunshine state?”

_Sunshaiine_ , he says. He’s putting it on for her now.

She grins at him, a quick reaction, so fast and pleased she can’t stop her tongue from pushing through her teeth like she’s seventeen and the boy she likes just asked if she wants a ride.

She climbs on top of him, letting the sheet slip off. She leans in close. “You know, it’s not quite the same all the way down here. Too many transplants, too urban.”

His hands slide up her arms, he’s looking at her nipples. He’s got his mouth open like he wants to suck on one. “Too many cubans,” he adds, distracted.

She bops him on the head. “That’s you talking out of your country-boy ass. Keep it to your mouth, and we’ll be okay.”

He sits up a little and she slides down his stomach and onto his cock, it’s pressing up, getting harder, against her ass. “Sure thing, _darlin’_ ,” he drawls. Something hot shoots up her middle and now he’s got a finger in her and he gives her this look as he realizes how wet she is. “Well, shit, Karen--”

“Shut up,” she says and grinds her hips down, arching her back and pulling his mouth to her breast. He goes to town for a solid minute, then moves onto the other one.

When he takes his mouth away, he smiles again and tells her, “Gird yourself, honey, this one’s gonna be a slow ride. Gotta build myself back up after the first one.” He winks for good measure and she laughs, breathlessly.

“Slow as...?” she asks as she fits him to her.

His brows furrow as his mouth parts, jaw going slack and pretty. “What?”

“Slow as what, Raylan?” He’s going to get it in a second.

He blinks at her and starts to laugh, low and throaty. He pulls her up on him and starts to move, just as he says, “Slow as _mo-lasses_.”

She gives him her pleased smile again, but loses it as he starts pushing her to go only a little bit faster. 

“Darlin’,” he grunts and flips her over her back on the bed, hands reaching for the head board. “We’re gonna have to do somethin’ about your Kentucky-fried preconceptions. Right quick.” He winks again.

_Pree-conn-cepshuns_ she thinks. _Uh huh_.

He proceeds to talk like a hard-boiled poet, wrapped in tobacco and soaked in moonshine, while he fucks her. He breaks off only as he comes, mid-sentence, mid-thought, but she thinks she _sees_ his goddamn hills when she follows him.

God _damn_.


End file.
